


Fathom

by dormiensa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Betrayal/Deception, Curses/Spells, Drama, F/M, Forbidden Love, Memory Alteration, Mild Language, Plot Based on Book/Film, Post-Hogwarts, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Content, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:58:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormiensa/pseuds/dormiensa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is getting increasingly suspicious that he has lost something. Something very important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fathom

It was a dreary November afternoon when he set foot in Diagon Alley. He needed to get away from the Manor. He couldn’t pinpoint on why but it was suffocating him.

It being a Sunday, the streets were busy. He walked rather aimlessly. He did not need to purchase or do anything in preparation for work the next day. 

He thought he might as well waste some time browsing Flourish and Blotts. Nothing like a new book to get immersed in to while away the hours.

That was odd. His signet ring had just given a tingling sensation to his left hand. It was not a signal of danger, of that he was sure. But what the tingling sensation meant, he had no idea. He had never charmed the ring to do anything.

He looked about to see if he could find any clues. But no, there were just people walking about.

***

Draco’s quiet reading was interrupted by the unexpected appearance of one of the house-elves. Looking at his desk clock, he wondered if something was amiss in another part of the house. Was his mother in need of his assistance?

The house-elf seemed nervous as she handed the handkerchief to him. It was one of the many monogrammed handkerchiefs that he carried around. Leighle’s eyes looked at him imploringly, but he couldn’t fathom the reason. As he thanked her, she twisted her ears helplessly, wanting but not daring to say something. 

“What is it, Leighle?”

“Leighle finds this in Young Master’s Ministry robes. Leighle hopes she is done right not washing handkerchief. If Master Lucius finds out Leighle gives…” She gave an involuntary squeak and disappeared.

Draco frowned. What on earth did she mean? The handkerchief did not appear soiled. He brought it to his nose and took a small whiff. There was a faint trace of perfume. It smelled like… like a cool and crisp autumn breeze. A very unusual scent. But who did it belong to? He was certain none of the women of his acquaintance used such a unique fragrance. And he was almost certain that the perfume could not be found in the stores.

Who was the creator and owner of the scent?

***

It was just a quick errand to pick up more supplies from the Apothecary’s.

He didn’t know what possessed him to stop and detour into Fortescue’s. They had just gotten the first snow of the season. Diagon Alley had transformed overnight into one of those quaint villages that one always associated with Christmas. 

As he stepped inside the door, he couldn’t help but grin. It was so good to have Fortescue’s back in business. His smile widened as he approached the counter and recognized Fortescue’s granddaughter.

“Your usual, Mr. Malfoy?”

He was about to state the affirmative, so it was a shock when what came out of his mouth was, “No… I rather fancy your mint-chocolate.”

When had he ever desired mint-chocolate? It had always been butterscotch swirl ever since he was a child. On occasion, he would ask for a simple French vanilla or a raspberry, but he had never cared for something as overwhelming as mint-chocolate. 

He thought he saw Clothilde give him an odd little smile as she handed him the ice cream, but he was still puzzled over his selection to pay much heed. After paying, he turned and headed toward one of the small tables. 

He was paralyzed once again with another flash of memory.

 _He was sitting outside of Fortescue’s. It was a hot summer’s day. He was laughing and talking with… someone. He had his usual butterscotch swirl. And she—yes, he was sure his companion was a woman—she was offering him a taste of her mint-chocolate…_

He came back to the present with a start. He stared hard at his ice cream, but the images were gone. And he had no idea who she was.

***

He wasn’t drunk enough. And he was annoyed.

The boys had dragged him out for the usual drinks. He had been in a chipper mood. There had been plenty of girls about trying to catch the attention of any interested, hot-blooded bloke. But even when The Junior Member had given every indication of desire for some romping, he could not find a single woman who aroused enough interest to either approach or take up on her offer. And he couldn’t understand what was wrong. The boys had ribbed him mercilessly, one by one abandoning him for the evening’s conquests.

Finally, alone and frustrated, he had tossed back his last drink and grumpily returned home.

The Junior Member still needed attending to, so he stripped and headed for the bathroom.

As he neared climax, he saw flashes of curly brown hair. Image after image of the same head of curls. But no clear face to latch onto. What was even more provoking was that he couldn’t think of who she could be. Certainly not any of the girls at the bar.

“Ahhhhh… _Hermione!_ ”

***

It was hours after the shower, but Draco still could not sleep. In fact, he had his head between his hands. He was getting a headache from trying to fathom why he’d shouted Granger’s name—and her first name, to boot!—at such a moment. She had been a constant thorn in his side throughout their school years, always debunking every idea taught to him about Mudbl—Muggle-born inferiority. What the fuck was wrong with his head—now he couldn’t even say Mudbl—Mud— _that word_ properly! Cliodna’s cacky, chalfonted, clenched, creased, crumbling, curdled clit! 

“V-Voldemort!” 

He grabbed his wand and began hexing and destroying everything in sight. He was going insane. That was the only explanation. With the Dark Lord gone, the taboo had long been lifted, but why, why, _why_ could he say the name of the only monster that he’d ever truly feared—the monster he’d seen that one, horrifying time he had stumbled across a Boggart in the dungeons soon after the trials—but not a simple, now rather meaningless, derogatory term? He knew he’d had to desist from using the term in public, what with the snottiest of them all being the best friend of The Ugly Scarhead That Draco Hated Owing a Life-debt To. Surely… surely _she_ hadn’t made the word taboo? No, she couldn’t’ve. His friends still muttered the term. His father used it with impunity within the walls of the Manor. 

And it wasn’t as if he and Granger were on any sort of speaking terms, certainly nothing beyond the forced-polite acknowledgements at public and Ministry events where they invariably ran into each other. He knew that some of the boys had commented on how fetching Granger had turned out from the bossy, buck-toothed, bushy-haired bitch that had grated on their nerves in school. She was passably attractive, he supposed, if he stopped to think about it. He grimaced as he recalled a tipsy Theo confessing that he’d wanked to thoughts of Granger when they were at Hogwarts. Well, Draco could safely say that he’d never… 

An unbidden image appeared of Granger in those periwinkle robes at the Triwizard Tournament Yule Ball. _Her perfectly coiffed hair, done up sleek and shining. Her bubbling laughter as she was twirled about the dance floor. Her delectably white and smooth-looking skin. The green drapes of his dormitory bed. The come that shot toward the canopy…_

Draco sank to the floor, tugging his hair as he smashed his forehead against his knees. He had wanked to that vignette of Granger? Why was this seemingly-repressed memory rearing its ugly head now? Had he fantasized about Granger since? Try as he might, he couldn’t recall. But some intangible, nagging sensation told him that he had—more than once. Had he been so horrified that he’d Obliviated those memories? No, after having his mind violated by both the Dark Lord and his crazy Aunt Bella—and it had been an endless source of amusement for both of them to pass scathing commentary on what they had seen, even though, with Snape’s help, he had been able to hide away parts of his mind—Draco had vowed that all his memories, good and bad, would be retained and vigilantly safe-guarded against any future probing. They were _his_ memories, his own to treasure, analyze, or criticize as _he_ saw fit. 

Had he been so horrified by the possibility he may have fancied Granger that he had managed to suppress the idea until mild inebriation had unleashed the thoughts once again? 

He sighed. He was tired. He didn’t want to think anymore. Rummaging his desk drawer, he found a bottle of Sleepless Draught and downed it in one gulp.

***

A sharp tap-tap-tap noise interrupted his focus on the text before him. He looked up and frowned. It was a post-owl. Who would be looking for him? It wasn’t his mother, for he had told her he would be at Blaise’s to use his library for research. It couldn’t be anyone else he knew, since those with whom he corresponded in such a manner all owned either personal owls or family owls. Relieving the owl of its package and paying the required Knuts, he turned the parcel about. The parcel itself was square and flat and wrapped in plain parchment. Unravelling it revealed an unremarkable box. Within nestled a delicately filigreed, silver bangle.

The bangle was quite heavy, its craftsmanship exquisite. It looked Oriental. Examining it from different angles, he finally decided that the filigree on one half formed a dragon while the other looked like a bird, possibly a peacock or phoenix. 

Instinctively, he looked at his signet ring. Why, though? Taking it off, he examined it closely. Huh. Etched ever so finely into the band was a filigree pattern that was a match for the bird on the bangle.

***

He was having a restless night. He tossed and turned about for what seemed hours. Every inch of his pillow contained some uncomfortable lump that was preventing him from relaxing. Finally, having fretted himself into exhaustion, he succumbed. 

_In his dream, he found himself at the head of a long and narrow corridor, with closed doors on both sides. Opening random doors and finding them all unlocked, he found himself reliving a variety of memories: from childhood, from school, from the dark times when the Dark Lord had usurped the Manor, from work, from all parts of his life. With the memories came the myriad of emotions that they evoked._

_When he came to the final door, Draco experienced a moment of hesitation. What would he find behind this one? He felt both curiosity and a sense of regret, for opening the door meant the completion of this unexpected trip down memory lane. Literally._

_The memory turned out to be completely ordinary and difficult to pinpoint as to its relation in time to the previous memories. He was sitting in the Conservatory, reading. He could not recall having read the book and for some strange, inexplicable reason, he felt very much abandoned and forgotten in the space._

_As he made his way toward the door, he almost missed the tiny ray of light that hinted at an unexpected alcove, which he knew did not exist in its real-life counterpart._

_Draco couldn’t understand why he was strangely drawn toward it. Standing before it, he was surprised to face a wall covered by a tall, dark curtain. It took a few tugs to open it. Pulling it back revealed a locked door. He searched every inch of the alcove but could not locate a key. He was frustrated, but something kept goading him to not give up his search._

_Finally, upon closer examination of the lock, he realized that he had been in possession of the key all along. Removing his ring, he placed it into the groove and made a twisting motion until he heard the click._

_It took several tries to open the door, as it was much heavier than it looked._

_Stepping across the threshold, he stood in amazement. The room was filled with endless rows of shelves. The shelves held transparent globes that flickered and pulsated with every conceivable colour. Draco quickly surmised that these were memories. The globes were not labelled. He reached for one, but the memory within could not be accessed. Looking about the room, he finally noticed a Pensieve standing patiently in one corner. As soon as the globe was held above the stone basin, its contained memory escaped and smokily descended._

_Draco found himself at one of the Ministry Hallowe’en Galas. He grinned as he recognized friends and colleagues. Ah, he had forgotten that Peasbody had decided to cross-dress as a hag. Privately, a few of them had joked that Peasbody had never looked so attractive._

_Rounding a corner, he saw someone in a pirate costume very similar to the one he’d worn one year. The bloke was quite happily snogging his companion, and Draco turned to go, unable to shake an odd feeling of embarrassment for intruding. But then the woman, in a deep burgundy flamenco dress, moaned something that stopped him in his tracks._

_“Mmmm... Malfoy...”_

_Draco spun around and approached the pair. The pirate was him... and he was snogging Hermione Granger!_

_Before he realized, Draco found himself fleeing. Out of the secret room, the Conservatory, down the long corridor, past one room after another, all of them vaguely resembling the many rooms of the Manor. Would he ever get out? He needed to be far away, out in the outdoors, preferably. Where was the front door?_

Draco awoke with a start, heart palpitating. 

He did not sleep another wink the remainder of the night.

***

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry, ma’am…”

As both his arms encircled the woman he had nearly knocked to the ground in his attempt to reach the book of interest from the top shelf, he thanked the rigor of his Quidditch training for its honing of his reflexes. Even through the layers of clothing, there was no mistaking the gentle swell of her abdomen. He breathed a sigh of relief that no angry husband would be after his blood for any calamity that might have befallen.

But… wait… 

There was that tingling sensation from his ring. The scent of a crisp autumn breeze. A head of curly hair. And brown eyes. Startled and so-familiar-looking brown eyes…

“Draco…”

“Hermione!”

His head flooded with memories, like they had been trapped behind a dam that was suddenly breached.

Then, darkness.

***

_They were in Obscurus Books, in a cramped corner looking at books on obsolete incantations. They both reached for the same book, and it looked like she would beat him to it, despite his height advantage. He bumped her shoulder and caused her to lose her grip. He smirked and waved the book at her. She hexed him. By the time he’d recovered, she had paid two Galleons, told the clerk to keep the change, and was heading toward the door. Before stepping outside, she turned around and gave him the sauciest grin. He growled and gave chase…_

_And walked toward the little table Hermione had grabbed outside Fortescue’s. He handed her the mint-chocolate ice cream in his hand and settled to enjoy his butterscotch swirl. Being in such a public space, they purposely kept the conversation light and the physical contact to a minimum, but that did not stop her from offering him a taste of her ice cream, which he sampled and made a face at. She slapped him playfully._

_When they were both finished, they quickly got up and headed toward the Leaky and into Muggle London, where they wandered hand-in-hand for a bit before heading toward the movie theatre for a matinee. He held her hand tightly throughout the picture._

_And when the credits rolled, he looked over to see her shedding tears. He reached out to wipe them away..._

_And stared deeply into her mesmerizing eyes as their breaths became more and more shallow. He collected brief, electrifying kisses from her as he tugged at her curls and increased his pace, glorying in the gasps and moans escaping her lips and trying desperately to keep her in focus as he felt his body tighten in anticipation..._

_As he opened his eyes, he was startled to see that they were free-falling from her favourite roller coaster ride at the amusement park she had insisted on dragging him to on their first official date—to “open his eyes” to what Muggles defined as “fun”. He would never admit it to her, but he rather liked her definition of fun. And he had insisted that they do the ride again. Thrice._

_Not that she didn’t enjoy the magical dates that he organized. He remembered her wide-eyed wonder when he commissioned a magically floating raft to take them on a leisurely exploration of the Vatnajökull Glacier in Iceland while they had the afternoon tea that the house-elves had prepared (with his mother’s best china set)._

_He also recalled her wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression when he presented her with the perfume he had created for her on her twenty-first birthday. It had taken him two months to properly capture the complete sensation of a brisk walk through the woods on a crisp autumn’s afternoon, with the breeze in one’s face and the vivid colours assaulting the eyes at every turn. She’d never worn a different scent since._

_He knew she had deliberately taunted him at the Ministry Yule Ball that year by wearing that perfume lightly sprinkled about her form-hugging periwinkle gown. It had taken every last bit of his willpower not to beat to a pulp all the tossers who had hovered about her. But she did make it up to him that night, when she let him rip the gown from her, even though he had made a tear in the bodice in his haste to get at her flesh._

_And he was an utter fool to forget that the pair of filigreed bangles that he’d presented to her on their third anniversary had been purchased in a curio shop on the outskirts of Muggle London. As the shopkeeper had explained, the pair was sold to him by an elderly Chinese gentleman, whose wife had recently passed away and whose granddaughter could not appreciate them, preferring the solid gold pair that she was commissioning for her upcoming nuptials. The shopkeeper had further explained that Chinese brides from the southern province of Guangdong wore the bangles on their wedding day, and the dragon-and-phoenix motif symbolized the joining together of the newlyweds. Traditionally, the bangles should be in gold, but the gentleman’s bride had been an unusual creature, preferring a pair of silver ones. So, to compensate for the break in tradition, the elderly gentleman’s family had commissioned a very skilled jeweller to create the exquisite bangles._

_Draco had paid double the asking price._

_After Hermione had opened her gift, he had confessed he did not want to give her a typical promise ring, so he hoped the bangles would suffice. She had kissed him long and hard. She was the one who suggested they each keep one and charm them to give off a tingling sensation so that they would be aware of each other’s presence. Draco had joked that that would ruin the fun of sneaking up on her but had agreed, although he suggested a modified plan. She should keep one bangle to wear as such, and they would each take one half of the other—she the dragon and he the phoenix—and enclose a single strand of each other’s hair within. She transformed her half into a pendant to keep close to her heart; he shrank his half to the appropriate size to envelope his signet ring._

_Draco paused in his reminisces as a sharp pain debilitated him. What was—_

_There was a noise just within the periphery of his hearing. Who was intruding? He stared at his door with narrowed eyes..._

_He saw Leighle pop into his room and nervously inform him that his father wanted to see him in his study. In a daze, he made his way to the room..._

A deep and measured voice called out from a distance. “Draco Malfoy.”

_… his father immobilized him as soon as he sat down. “This is for your own good, Draco. I cannot allow you to bring further ruin to the family...”_

The voice interrupted again. “Come out of your dreams, Draco Malfoy.”

_… his father forced a potion down his throat and began speaking in a language Draco recognized as Norse. Slowly, he felt his happy memories with Hermione recede to a small corner of his mind, one by one passing out of reach. No! No! He chased after them, desperate to keep them close, knowing that they would be lost if he did not hold onto them..._

“Draco Malfoy, do not fight. Come out of this prison you have built inside your mind. I promise you that you will be safe. Hermione is waiting for you in the world of the living. Cease your dreaming and return to her.”

Reluctantly, Draco forced his eyes open. He waited for them to adjust to the dim light of the room. He was in St. Mungo’s. He turned his head to his right, toward the voice that was speaking to him. He stared into the solemn face of the Minister for Magic.

“Welcome back, Mr. Malfoy," said Kingsley Shacklebolt. “Now that you have returned to us, please rest and give your body time to recover. Hermione is resting in the adjoining room, and you may see her once she has awoken. I have the assurance of Mr. Potter that no harm will come to either of you and no one can enter without your expressed permission, with the exception of Healer Cyllarusopoulos, of course, who is a personal friend and completely trustworthy.”

“Thank you, Minister. How long have I been comatose?”

“Two days.”

“Where are my parents?”

“The Healer has sent them home, promising to inform them when you come out of your coma and are in a strong enough state to... see them.”

Draco digested this, recalling his recently-recovered memory of that meeting in his father’s study. After reviewing what he recalled prior to his collapse inside Flourish and Blotts, he suddenly struggled to extract himself from the sheets. 

“Please do not try to get up yet, Mr. Malfoy. You need—”

“The baby! I have to—”

“The baby and Hermione are fine. I assure you that there has been no harm done to either of them. Hermione revived eight hours ago. From what I can gather in my attempts to bring both of you back, she was beginning to recall more of the events of your... shared history at an earlier and quicker pace than you. She had tried to contact you but with little success. She made mention of a small package that was finally successfully delivered by owl—perhaps you know to what she refers. 

“You are not yet recovered enough to discuss this, but rest assured that I will be speaking with both you and Hermione soon in regards to your wishes regarding the violation of your persons by Lucius.”

Draco sighed and nodded. 

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Malfoy, I will let you rest. I’ll suggest to Healer Cyllarusopoulos that he delay informing your parents of your recovery until we have had our discussion. Good evening.”

***

It was only after he arrived home that Kingsley Shacklebolt allowed his calm composure to slip. He knew he would not be able to sleep for another two hours. Making himself comfortable in his study, he allowed his anger to express itself so that it could be more easily expunged.

That Lucius Malfoy would dare perform such Dark magic on his own son! Kingsley briefly allowed for the elegance of the magic, a combination of a potion and a complex incantation, but its terrible consequence far outweighed its merits in brilliance. 

That the unequivocal downfall of Voldemort had finally unhinged the man was the only justification Kingsley could conclude for his atrocious behaviour. At the eventual meeting with Draco Malfoy and Hermione, he would hint that a stay in St. Mungo’s prior to any legal trial and punishment would be prudent. If Azkaban was Lucius’ final destination, complete isolation would be required in case he caused any harm to the other inmates. 

Thoughts of the prison inevitably brought him back to the trauma that both the young Malfoy heir and Hermione had suffered. When he was asked to consult for his long-time friend Stavros Cyrallusopoulos, he had no idea he would be encountering such a rare spell. Hermione had been _Imperio_ ’d before the entire spell was cast, so she had no true memory of what had been done and by whom. Kingsley had had better luck after delving into Draco Malfoy’s mind, discovering not only the exact nature and performance of the spell but also Lucius’ justification for inflicting it. Kingsley had never been more grateful for his long and varied career as an Auror, which not only allowed him to gain a vast store of obscure knowledge but had honed his abilities to assist fellow Aurors overcome all forms of psychological trauma. It was his recognition of the language as the extinct Norse one that had quickly narrowed the search for the spell. 

Kingsley shook his head in bewilderment as he recalled the details of the spell. It caused the intended victim to forget someone by telling that person’s brain to systematically repress most or all memories pertaining to the one being forgotten, hiding the memories away in a specific recess and making them inaccessible to the conscious mind. It was more subtle but also more dangerously thorough than an Obliviation because the latter spell always affected mental acuity and sometimes caused personality changes, depending on how much was Obliviated. By using the victim’s own mind to censor the pertinent memories, many of the smaller, intangible ones pertaining to the person’s life and experiences were not affected and the gaps left could be more effectively stitched up and rationalized.

He and Stavros had both sighed in relief when they realized that the effects of the spell could be reversed. Normally, the reversal would cause some permanent damage—Dark magic was never without consequence to both caster and victim—but the fact that the pair had separately begun to fight against the spell gave hope that any damage would be minimal in this case. Stavros had studied extensively with a Middle Eastern herbalist, and after researching to ensure no adverse effects, he had excitedly confirmed that his unusual blend of Lemon balm, _Huperzia serrata_ , and Dwarf periwinkle that he’d been using to treat patients with memory problems would also be of use in reversing the Dark spell and repairing the minds of both patients. 

Sadly, their dissecting of the spell also confirmed that the effects of the potion could not be reversed. Its purpose was to remove all sensory memories that young Malfoy and Hermione had of each other—personal scents, vocal cues, sensations resulting from touch, and other such triggers, all of these were nullified. As a result, the pair would appear as no more than casual acquaintances to one another. Kingsley rather suspected that, had it not been the invariable meetings the pair would have due to a long shared history, the proximity of their Ministry jobs, and certain mutual friends, Lucius would’ve taken a more drastic step and caused them to be complete strangers. He shook his head in disgust.

It was no wonder that Draco Malfoy, who had regained consciousness in St. Mungo’s after he and Hermione had been found collapsed on the floor of Flourish and Blotts but who had briefly become delirious and incoherent, had screamed at the sound of Lucius’ voice. The young Malfoy’s screams had quickly escalated, and the staff had had to forcibly remove Lucius from the floor before they could calm him down. Even before the facts of the spell came to light, the staff had deemed it prudent to refuse Lucius visitation rights.

Kingsley sighed. Draco Malfoy and Hermione were fortunate to share an indelible bond in their unborn child. Through careful questioning of Harry, Ron, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson, he had learned that they had not seen anything amiss in the interactions of the pair. In fact, it seemed that a secret romance had been conducted without any of them noticing. It was only when Hermione realized she was pregnant and had sought the help of her friends to discover the identity of the father that things slowly came to light. Hermione had kept secret the identity of the baby’s father until the last possible moment, so her friends had not yet had the chance to confront either Draco Malfoy or his parents. 

After apprising the four friends of the facts of the spell, Kingsley had warned them not to precipitate any action against Lucius Malfoy until the discussion with Draco Malfoy and Hermione had occurred. 

Kingsley checked his watch and realized that he needed to get some sleep. The meeting he was attending in the morning had already been put off twice. It would not do to offend the Belgian contingents. And he would need to be on full alert because Madame Rousseau had a caustic wit that he very much enjoyed sparring with.

***

In the end, justice was taken out of everyone’s hands.

Narcissa had sequestered Healer Cyrallusopoulos in her private sitting room when he Floo-called to inform them that Draco was out of his coma. She had threatened to keep him there until he revealed what was wrong with her son. After learning the facts and her husband’s part in what had transpired, she had quickly called a conclave of all the ancestors at the Manor and let them pass judgment. They decided to disinherit Lucius, handing over all his rights and privileges to Draco. 

Upon learning his father’s sentence, Draco had, with Hermione’s encouragement, related to Kingsley that he would not be seeking further legal actions against Lucius. He further stated that while a Healer’s examination and subsequent treatment would be sound, he preferred if these were conducted within the confines of the Manor, which was more suitable and capable of containing Lucius than any other place. As Lucius no longer had control of the Manor, being allowed to live in his ancestral home under sufferance was punishment enough. 

Narcissa was adamant that she would no longer be staying at the Manor, preferring to live in the smaller townhouse located in Oxford.

Draco and Hermione were released from St. Mungo’s with a clean bill of health a week later. Their friends had rallied about them and prevented them from falling into depressions over the harsh reality of their predicament. When they were finally able to discuss their future, they decided that they would not rush into making their bond more permanent. There was no doubt that they would marry, but they wanted to take the time to get fully reacquainted with each other. They had had their memories restored, even if there were occasional gaps that needed filling, but they had lost the physical, sensory knowledge they had once had about one another. They felt they needed to truly know each other again.

For their second-round first date, Draco hired a boat for two weeks so that they could leisurely explore all the tiny island nations in the Pacific Ocean that were east of the Asiatic and Oceanic continents.

By the end of the holiday, they became truly and thoroughly reacquainted with one another.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the movie "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind".


End file.
